


Taking Whisks

by buckysbeard



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Baz is angsty, Baz's dad is a dick, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, bad pastry puns, oblivious idiots, rated T for a lot of swearing, snowbazvalentines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckysbeard/pseuds/buckysbeard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Valentine's day gift for @peanuts-incorporated as part of the SnowBaz Secret Valentine gift exchange!</p><p>Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is not your average coffee shop worker. Simon Snow is an oblivious idiot. Rivalries (and  pastries) ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where have you bean all my life?

**Baz**

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch was not your average coffee-shop worker. He was quite possibly the first person in his family to ever set foot inside a coffee shop, let alone work in one, aside from his aunt Fiona who owned the very establishment he was reluctantly employed in. Emphasis on reluctantly, since there was literally anything Baz would rather do than work a coffee machine, wash up and, worst of all, talk to customers. However, after his father had proclaimed that he wasn’t paying for any of his “gay stuff” (“ _dad, all my stuff is ‘gay stuff_ ”) or his football kit (and _come on_ , homophobic parents were usually interested in their child’s sporting prowess but _no_ , Baz’s dad wanted him to be a doctor. Typical.) Baz really needed some cash. Which was why he was struggling to open the shop door whilst freezing to death at five o’clock in the morning. He reminded himself to breathe. Yeah, it was his first day, and yeah, he hadn’t much of a clue what was going on but all he had to do was set up the food and mind the till until Penny, his irritatingly intelligent co-worker turned up at nine. Penny had even given him a handwritten handbook to refer to if anything happened.

Sadly, the handbook didn’t cover how to deal with attractive boys passed out under one of your tables.

Baz blinked twice to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, but no, a boy with a mop of curls was curled up in the corner of the café, snoring slightly. Was there a procedure for this? Should Baz wake him up? Walking over, he gingerly prodded the boy with his foot, but to no avail. Just as he’d given up and was awkwardly sweeping around him, the boy stirred, and opened his eyes with a groan, blinking unfocusedly at Baz.

Baz pointed the end of his brush at the boy, backing away slightly. Was he a tramp? A druggie? He didn’t really look like either.

“Who…” Baz began.

“I’m Simon Snow,” the boy replied, still evidently half asleep. _Simon Snow_ , what a pretentious arse. Was Baz supposed to know who he was? Was he so entitled that he thought his name could excuse him from something that was probably illegal (okay, Baz hadn’t a clue whether crashing at coffee shops was illegal, but it wasn’t _good_ ).

“What,” he spat “Are you doing?”

“Err,” the boy replied, attempting to sit upright and banging his head on the bottom of the table whilst doing so, “Well…”

“Wow, what a way with words,” Baz deadpanned, glancing at the clock. He had already wasted precious minutes where he should have been putting the croissants in the oven. “You’re going to get me fired on my first day, so kindly _leave_.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy – Snow - spluttered, “It’s just, Penny sometimes lets me stay a bit late and yesterday she must have let me stay a _lot_ late, cause she got a call from her boyfriend in America, and she basically, er, left.”

So Snow was Penny’s friend, of course. Baz was going to have words with her.

“Out.” He said, poking Snow with the brush. Thankfully he obliged, packing what looked like textbooks and hastily scribbled notes into a tatty rucksack and stumbling out of the door. His hair was sticking up at the back.

Baz sighed. Talk about a bad first day.

* * *

 

If the morning had been bad, the afternoon was shaping up to be much worse. Penny, now thankfully arrived and chastised for allowing random blond boys to sleep in the café, had warned Baz about the after-school rush, but he was still very unprepared. Not only did they have all of the tired commuters from the nearby tube station, but also all the kids leaving school, including the whole football team who laughed at the depths to which their “star striker” had sunk. Baz darted back and forth, shouting orders to Penny who worked the coffee machine like a fiend, grabbing muffins and attempting to spell everyone’s names right as he wrote them on their takeaway cups (he gave up on that pretty quickly).

Just as the last sweaty footballer walked away, and Baz had breathed a sigh of relief, he heard a familiar voice.

“One large white chocolate mocha and my usual,” Baz turned from the coffee machine to see Snow giving his order to Penny. Fuck.

“White chocolate mocha, please Baz,” Penny said, earning a glare. “With that amount of sugar intake I’m surprised that you can collapse asleep under tables, Snow.” Baz sneered, pulling the handle on the machine a little too hard.

Snow opened his mouth as if to give a retort but decided against it, taking a seat at a nearby table, a stray curl falling over his face. Baz definitely wasn’t staring. His “usual” appeared to be one of the sour cherry scones, which to be fair, were amazing.

Shit. The coffee cup overflowed, and Baz tried not to make a scene as he mopped it up. Slamming the lid on he moved to put it on the boy’s table, before Penny cleared her throat. “Oi, Baz, write his name!” she whispered, and grabbing the pen off her, Baz scrawled “Snow” in aggressive capitals before marching over and putting it on his table with such force that it spilt a little.

Snow glared at Baz, but as the coffee cup touched his lips his expression changed to one of shocked amazement. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed, “This is amazing! Way better than how you do it, Penny-no offence.”

He’d gotten milk froth on his top lip. Baz wanted to lick it off. Oh, shit. He opted for ignoring Snow and loudly washing up. The boy and Penny were already engaged in conversation, stressing over A level homework and Baz definitely wasn’t listening to them. He just couldn’t help noticing that Snow and Penny were both in their last year at his old school (how had Baz not noticed Snow before?), Snow was studying maths, computing and psychology and had quite possibly the worst handwriting of any person Baz had seen.

He couldn’t help feel a stab of bitterness every time they mentioned universities. _Relax, Pitch_ , he told himself, _just because you failed to get a single offer and fucked up your A Levels doesn’t mean you have to take it out on everyone else._ Stabbing himself on a fork for the third time in about ten minutes, he realised what he really should be worrying about was the fact that Penny was going back to school in two weeks and then Baz would have to manage the café for most of the day.

Snow chatted to Penny until they closed the café, drawing glares, pointed coughs and much slamming of plates from Baz. The girl was supposed to be helping him, for fuck’s sake, not leaving Baz to tidy up. A small, and probably more logical, part of his brain told him that his bitterness was probably do to with the fact the idiot who fell asleep under his table hadn’t talked, or even looked at Baz once. Baz sighed. The handbook definitely didn’t cover getting crushes on your customers.

* * *

 

Hair a mess and flushed from the cold, Snow came into the shop every day, armed with seemingly endless notes and a serious craving for coffee. Baz still wrote “Snow” on his cups, Snow still kept ignoring him, and Baz became more and more certain that the boy hated him. Hate? Fine. If the boy wanted to be a petty idiot, Baz was more than happy to sink to his level. Whenever he noticed Snow needed his coffee most (usually Monday morning), he’d take ages, measuring out the exact amount of milk and drawing out increasingly intricate designs in the froth until Snow’s incessant tapping on the table got too much for him.

“Oh for God’s sake!” Snow finally exclaimed. Penny was off duty, meaning Baz, unregulated, had stretched out the coffee making time to four minutes, fifty-seven seconds.

“Something the matter?” Baz asked languidly.

“You…that fucking….” He trailed off. “Cat got your tongue, Snow?”

“Fuck off, _Basilton_ ,” the boy snapped, ears burning.

“What? How did you-” Baz spluttered.

“Penny told me,” he smirked, leaning over and grabbing his coffee out of Baz’s hands, “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch – you posh twat.”

“How dare-“

“Oh, give me a break,” Snow spat, free hand balled into a fist, before turning and slamming the door behind him with such force the hinges rattled.

Baz let out a breath and sank to the floor behind the till. Snow was a fucking fire. He felt like he should run up to him, calm him down, like a referee at a particularly rowdy football match. He wouldn’t. He was just going to poke him until he went off, again and again, because that’s what he did, wasn’t it? Well, it wasn’t like he could ask him out. Baz had definitely heard conversations about Snow’s girlfriend, Agnes? Agatha. Agatha Wellbelove, who was he kidding. Baz had already stalked her on Facebook, and found that Snow’s type was blonde. And female.

“Oi, fucking numpty!” Baz turned to see his Aunt Fiona leaning over him. She was even more intimidating from this angle.

“Hey,” Baz said, hoping he didn’t sound too lovelorn.

“Get off the floor and help me with these boxes,” Fiona barked, and Baz obliged. One thing he could rely on Fiona for was not forcing him into conversations about his feelings, for which he was very grateful.

“Where’s Bunce?”

“University interview,” Baz replied.

“And that idiot who always hangs out around here?”

“Sim – Snow? He, err, just left.”

“Baz,” she said, slyly, “Are you blushing?”

Baz made a non-committal grunt, feeling his cheeks burn up more.

“You are! You _like_ him! Of fucking course, he’s so your type; curly hair, around two brain cells, a right bastard. Is he the captain of the football team too?”

“Fuck off! I don’t like –“ Baz stopped himself, sighed, “Okay, so I find him attractive, so what? He’s an idiot, with a girlfriend, who hates me. And he’s straight. And stupid.”

“Whatever,” Fiona sighed, “Just hurry up and make me a coffee.”

* * *

 

It was Penny’s last day before she went back to school and she was sitting on the counter, knee-stockinged legs kicking at Baz. The two had developed a sort of friendship, because Penny was smart, and confident and happy to do the washing up for Baz (after his complaints about the feel of soap on his fingers). She’d be the sort of person to have as a great evil accomplice, if Baz ever needed one.

“Right, so for the last time,” Penny said, in her Serious Voice (the one she used with the “misogynistic twats” of the football team).

“Don’t leave the milk out to go sour, don’t forget to bake the pastries in the morning, don’t refuse to serve people ‘just because’, and don’t hate on Snow.”

“Simon.”

Baz sighed, “Simon. I can do like, three of those.”

“Come on, give my friend a break! What can you possibly hate him for?”

“It’s not hate, Penny, it’s a rivalry. We’re mortal enemies.”

“You’re idiots,” she sighed, kicking him in the chest.

“No, he’s an –“ he stopped, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. The only person who would ever call him at this hour was his dad. “Sorry, I’ve got to get this.”

“Father,” he said, picking up the phone and darting into the back room, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just found out your cousin received an offer for medicine. At Oxford.”

Oh shit. Oh shitting fuck.

“Where was your application, Basilton? The deadline for medicine applications was in October. October!” His voice had raised a decibel, “Where the _fuck_ was your application?”

“I didn’t give mine in.” Baz’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

**“What did you just say?”**

“I didn’t give mine in. I don’t want to do medicine.” His throat was getting tight. He begged himself to pull himself together.

“How dare you? How fucking dare you? I let you take a year off, despite my reservations, because I think you’re going to work, and apply yourself.”

“Maybe if you actually took an interest in my life you would realise I’d done no work! And that I don’t want to follow the shitty plan you’d set out for me before I was even born!”

Tears crept out of Baz’s eyes. There was silence at the other end of the phone.

“Don’t bother coming home tonight.” “Fine.” He hung up the phone, then released all his breath in one shaky sob.

“Baz?” Penny called, “You okay in there?”

Brushing the tears out of his eyes, Baz stood up, feeling volatile.

“Fine, I’ll be out in a second.”

Pulling himself together, he stepped out into the shop. Penny managed to keep him busy for most of the morning, obviously sensing that something was wrong and chatting to him to keep him occupied. It was around eleven when a familiar scruffy head stepped into the café.

“Morning Penny! Ready for school tomorrow?” Oh Jesus, the boy was extra chipper this morning, like he’d already had his caffeine dose.

“Ugh, as if,” Penny said.

Baz was at the till, glowering.

“I’ll have an expresso and my usual. And a smile, Baz.”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“A smile! You look like you have a literal raincloud over your head.”

Baz’s shoulders tensed, “Fuck off! Just fuck off! You don’t know jack shit about my life.”

“Baz,” Penny said in a warning tone.

“Jesus, Baz, calm the fuck down.” Snow was grinning. The idiot. Baz leaned further forward, getting so close he could feel the whisper of Snow’s breath on his face.

“No,” he spat, “Get your pretentious arse out of my café.”

“Pretentious arse?” The boy’s eyebrows furrowed. “How dare you? _You_ don’t know jack shit about my life!” He could see his pupils dilating, the ring of blue around them growing smaller. Baz should _not_ be turned on by this. But he’s disturbed, ask anyone.

“I know you’re an idiot,” the sneer came naturally to Baz now.

“You’re pathetic,” Baz liked the way he spat out the word. He wanted to grab him and kiss him to death.

“Okay, boys, _enough_!” Penny interrupted, pulling Baz back. “Simon, here’s your coffee. Baz, sit in the back room until you’ve calmed down enough to not be an idiot.”

Eyes fixed on Snow until the last minute, Baz turned and shut himself in the storeroom.

He tried to calm himself down, taking deep breaths, concentrating on the room around him. It didn’t work. It didn’t work because recently, whenever his dad had shouted at him or the football team had laughed at him there’d only been one thing that would slow his breathing. Blue eyes. Bronze curls. That Simon Snow was the stupidest human alive. And he was hopelessly in love with him.


	2. Expresso yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz try and deal with their feelings. Badly.

**Simon**

There were several unwritten rules to being an A level student. One: no one was going to judge you if you fell asleep in the common room, two: free periods were a literal life-saver and three: coffee was essential.

The trouble was, Simon Snow was a bit of a coffee snob, and the school’s instant coffee tasted like absolute shit. That was the _only_ reason why he bothered going to the coffee shop on the road next to his school, aside from chatting to Penny. Now Penny was only working there on Saturdays, he had to admit he was left a little confused why he still felt compelled to go to the shop every morning and afternoon. Did he have a caffeine addiction? That would certainly explain his raised heartbeat every time he approached the café doors.

Either way, it was better to buy independent, right? Even if it meant having to deal with shitty baristas. Baz Pitch. Simon shuddered at the thought. The boy looked like he was plotting Simon’s death every waking minute. Simon wouldn’t be surprised if he poisoned him with one of those amazing white chocolate mochas…

Simon’s stomach rumbled. It was the second day back at school, which was even worse than the first in terms of exhaustion levels, and he had slept through his alarm. He’d had to skip his morning coffee, casting a forlorn glance at the shop as he sprinted to school, arriving just in time. Sitting in his psychology lesson, Simon’s eyes began to droop as he attempted to listen to the teacher witter on about cognitive developmental theory (honestly, the man could make _anything_ boring). He needed caffeine. Agatha, sitting next to him, poked him with her foot and raised an eyebrow in a way that Simon used to find endearing. Emphasis on “used to”. There was some sort of distance between them now, which Simon couldn’t quite pinpoint. Was this what happened when you went out with someone for ages? When had it even started? He didn’t have the mental energy to think about it. Finally, the bell rang and Simon let out the huge yawn he’d been attempting to hide for the past hour. Muttering something about coffee to Agatha, he signed out of school (thank God for free periods), shuffled down the road and walked straight into the door of the coffee shop.

Shit. Simon’s nose was throbbing with pain, and - _fuck_ \- it was bleeding. It was going to get all over his shirt! Hand clasped to his face, he stumbled through the door, to where an all-too-familiar barista was looking very unimpressed.

“That’s a whole new level of idiocy Snow, I’m impressed.” Baz said.

Simon attempted to think of a witty retort, but blood was still coming out of his nose (and lip, how had that happened?) and really needed to sit down, the room spinning slightly.

“Can I just…have a tissue?”

Baz sighed but obliged and, surprisingly, sat down next to him.

“Don’t get blood on my sofa.” He tilted his head a little, forcing Simon to make eye contact with him. His eyes were grey, but in this light more like silver, lined with surprisingly long eyelashes.  “Hey, you better not be a fainter, I don’t want to have to deal with an unconscious Snow _again._ ”

“I’m not a fainter – I’ve been injured on the rugby pitch enough times to not be squeamish.” (And in a fair few fights, but Simon wouldn’t mention that)

“You play rugby?” Jesus, Baz didn’t have to look so _shocked_ by the notion.

“Yeah, I’m the captain.”

Baz let out a snort, shaking his head a little in disbelief. Simon was starting to wonder whether the barista had gone a bit mad.

“Anyway,” Simon continued, “I’d feel a lot better if I had some caffeine.”

“You’re an addict, Snow,” Baz said, making his way to the counter, “Your usual white chocolate sucrose overkill, I assume?”

“After this morning, make it a double shot expresso.”

Baz laughed. Simon didn’t think he’d ever seen him do anything but scowl before, and it was amazing. His eyes crinkled up at the edges, his head tilted forward a little and he covered his mouth slightly, like he wasn’t used to making so much noise. Yep, definitely mad.

Baz brought his coffee to him, and Simon gulped it down, wincing a little (it being about ten times more bitter than Baz’s white chocolate masterpieces). His phone buzzed a couple of times, with Penny demanding where he was.

“Oh shit, I’ve gotta go, Penny’s meant to be helping me with my homework now.”

Just as he was about to get to his unsteady feet he saw Baz’s hand outstretched before him. Was this a trap? Was the boy going to let him drop, to add insult to injury? Very gingerly, he grasped Baz’s hand. It was cool, and smooth; a direct opposite to Simon’s which appeared to be growing warmer and clammier by the second. With a jolt, Baz pulled him up, and Simon stumbled, having to grasp Baz’s (surprisingly muscly) shoulders for support. They both froze. Baz had a tiny scar between his eyes, the only imperfection on his light olive skin, which was literally flawless.

“I, uh, should probably pay,” Simon said, feeling incredibly self-conscious under Baz’s searing gaze. He realised his hands were still on Baz’s shoulders and removed them like they were scalding.

“Have this one on me,” Baz said, his eyes skirting down to Simon’s lips.

“Okay,” Simon said abruptly, turning away and barging through the door, almost injuring himself again.

Out on the street, he let out a tense breath, the feeling of Baz’s hand still on his. Baz’s mind games had reached a whole new level. What was he doing?

* * *

**Baz**

Baz didn’t know what he was doing.

He was fucked, completely, royally fucked. The boy was captain of the rugby team! He was like all of Baz’s wet dreams rolled into one! Snow, with his inability to drink coffee without wincing, and stupid cut lips which he wanted to kiss, had knocked Baz for six. The idiot was going to ruin him.

Baz decided on a Simon Ban for the rest of the day, which lasted about twenty minutes, since the only other options were stressing about his future and plotting out arguments with his father he would never dare say. He really had not returned home that night after his dad had called him, sleeping on the sofa of the café (he didn’t know how Snow had done it, the thing was uncomfortable as fuck). But he had a duty to his sisters; just thinking of them alone to face his father’s wrath without him was enough to make him dash home as soon as his first day without Penny had finished. He hated it, hated feeling like he was stepping on eggshells in every conversation, hated having to pretend to smile at his sisters as he tucked them into bed.

It was far less painful to think about Snow. He also needed to come up with more snarky comebacks, because he couldn’t go staring at the guy and giving him free coffee every time moments of sexual tension arose. Baz struggled; every imagined conversation turning into an imagined heated make-out session against the shop counter. After a customer raised their eyebrow at him after he forgot to put milk in her coffee twice, Baz told himself to stop. Snow was taken, and straight, and way out of Baz’s league. It wouldn’t be fair to Snow, or his girlfriend if he kept being so goddam creepy. But he could still admire Snow, right? Like someone would admire a really nice, super attractive painting…

“Good afternoon Baz!” Speak of the devil.

“What’s good about it?” Baz spat, his defences up again.

“Jesus, I’m sorry I asked,” Snow said, rolling his eyes, “I’ll have a glass of tap water and a sour cherry scone.”

Baz held his tongue, giving Snow the scone, which he ate in about ten seconds whilst unpacking his school books. It occurred to Baz that Snow spent a lot of time at his café doing his homework. Were his parents dicks too? Baz retreated behind the counter, serving the schoolkids that came in, all the time giving quick glances to Snow. His nose looked a bit swollen, and his brows seemed constantly furrowed as he stared intently at his books. He stayed past the after-school rush, pausing only to play with his phone, and well into the evening. Baz wanted to make conversation, ask after his day at school, but his voice dried up. Instead, he pulled out a tiny notebook and a pencil, and began to sketch. At first he hadn’t much of a clue what he was drawing, until a noticeable clump of curly hair appeared on his page. Of course. Giving in, he stared at Snow, measuring him up, charting him on paper. Three moles on his right cheek, two below his left ear, one over his left eye, Baz sketched them all. It didn’t come close to Snow’s beauty in real life, but it would do. Snow left the shop just a few minutes before it closed, muttering a quick goodbye as he darted out into the frosty darkness.

The whole scenario continued for the rest of the week. On Wednesday, Baz gave him an extra scone as he struggled through a psychology essay. On Thursday, Baz mentioned an answer to one of his maths problems, and Snow gave him such a grateful look Baz had to bite back a smile. On Friday he came in with a bunch of guys from the rugby squad, and Baz had to hold onto the cabinet to steady himself as he saw Snow in shorts with his hair all messed up and face muddy.  He didn’t stay quite as late that night, but long enough for the two of them to have a brief conversation about differentiation before Agatha rang his phone and he darted out, waving goodbye.

On Saturday, Baz was granted a lie-in, which he luxuriated in, before joining Penny for the afternoon.

“Finally,” she said as Baz walked through the door, “Simon’s away on a rugby tournament and I’ve been dying of boredom.”

“Now you know how I feel every day,” Baz replied, taking off his coat and putting on an apron.

He was talking rubbish of course, being filled with a sense of existential anguish and thoughts on Simon Snow for the past week. The two talked about the stupidity of linguistic prescriptivism for a while (a relatively light topic by their standards), before trying to come up with a new drink they could market to Fiona.

“Pumpkin Spice Latte?”

“I know we’re a Starbucks rip off but that’s taking it too far,” Baz said.

“Err, vanilla berry?” Penny asked, pushing up her glasses.

“Now you’re just putting random words together!”

“Okay, if you’re so smart, you come up with one!”

Baz paused, thinking of winters at his house when he was a child, the smell of his mother, the afternoons they’d spend baking.

“Pumpkin Mocha Breve,” he said finally.

“That could work,” Penny said, a little dubiously, “Lemme get some paper and write it down.”

“There’s some in my bag,” Baz said, regretting his words as soon as they’d left his mouth.

“Baz?” Penny asked. She was holding a notebook, or rather _the_ notebook, “What’s…are those…”

She burst out laughing.

“They’re nothing!” Baz squeaked, “What are you talking about?”

“They’re _drawings of Simon!_ Oh my God! Do you _fancy him?_ ”

“No!” Baz said, a little too loudly, “Why would I like … how dare you even suggest…”

“Baz,” Penny said, shaking her head, “These are like the equivalent of writing ‘Mr Basilton Snow’ in pink glittery gel pen.”

“So I find him attractive! So what?” Baz exclaimed. Oh shit, the cat was well and truly out of the bag now. “I would never date him, and I’m never going to date him, and he has a girlfriend!”

“Yeah, about that…” Penny said, trailing off.

“What?”

“Well I was talking to Agatha and she’s ‘not sure where the relationship is going’ - Simon’s a pretty crap boyfriend.” Penny said, scratching her head. “I mean, the relationship had been going a bit stale for a while now, but I was hoping it would die out naturally.”

“So, what are you suggesting?” Baz said, feet tapping incessantly.

“You might have a chance.”

“But he hates me!”

“He _thinks_ he hates you, but bringing up you around him is like asking the Mad Hatter about tea. I’m telling you – _you have a chance._ ”

Baz paused. Fucking hell, relationships were complicated. “So what do I do?”

“You need to flirt with him.”

Baz raised an eyebrow. “Pitches do not _flirt.”_

* * *

Pitches did flirt. Pitches flirted _awfully._

He’d tried smiling at Snow, but the boy looked at him like he was mad. He complimented his appearance, which just got him a “fuck off” in response. He was running out of ideas. Finally, when Simon asked for a cappuccino in one of his after school homework sessions, Baz took his chance. Very carefully, he sprinkled a heart in chocolate on top of the froth and placed it on Simon’s table, practically running away.

“What’s this meant to be?” Simon asked, pointing at the coffee cup.

Some of the chocolate had sunk! It just looked like a shitty blob!

“Nothing, why…why the fuck would I draw anything…it’s _coffee!”_ Baz wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

Simon rolled his eyes and returned to his work. Baz was dying- how did people _do this?_ It didn’t help that Simon looked extra stunning that afternoon, with his hair reflecting the evening light and his school shirt undone a few more buttons than was fair. He even had moles along his collar bone. Baz wanted to kiss each one of them, mark up his neck so everyone would know…

“Baz?”

“Yeah?” Baz replied, his voice about an octave higher than usual.

“This is really stupid but I’ve been stuck on this maths problem for fucking hours, and you seemed to know your stuff when we talked about differentiation…”

Baz had already sat down next to him. “Hit me.”

“What?”

“With the maths problem, come on.”

“Uh, so it’s this whole…thing,” Simon said, pointing vaguely to a huge question, with multiple parts, and even a _graph._ Man, Baz had missed maths.

“Okay, so first you need to sort out this simultaneous equation.”

“Okay!” Simon said, then paused, “How?”

Fucking hell, Baz was in for a long night. Luckily, having younger siblings had equipped him in the art of explaining stuff, and he worked through the problem methodically with Simon, who after repeated expletives, much hair ruffling (which Baz appreciated) and one chucking-a pencil-across-the-room incident, finally figured it out.

“Holy shit, we did it!” Simon cried, his face lighting up in a way which made Baz’s stomach do flips.

“Yeah!” Baz said. He hadn’t smiled this much in ages. “Though I’ve got to ask, why do you do maths if you plainly hate it so much?”

“Well, it’s kind of essential for a Computing degree.”

“You’re doing Computing…and you hate maths…”

“I don’t hate all maths! I just hate graphs, and equations, and…okay, most of it. You make it better though.” He smiled. Fuck. Baz’s brain felt liable to explode.

“Well, contrary to popular belief I haven’t always been a barista-“

“-A shitty barista-“

“-I once was a maths whizz. Like, top of the school type maths whizz.”

“Wow!” Simon’s brow furrowed. “So what are you doing being a shitty barista?”

Baz turned away, inspecting the dirty floor tiles. “That’s none of your business,” he spat.

And at once, the sunshine that had filled Simon had gone, leaving him with a look Baz knew only too well.

“Okay, I’m going home now. Thanks, Baz.”

He turned and left, leaving Baz to drop his head into his hands and wonder when the idiot he called Snow had turned into Simon.

* * *

**Simon**

No one had told Simon love could feel like this. Like flames, like being dosed in gasoline and set alight. His love for Agatha had been soft, comforting. This was something else. How had he been so blind not to notice it?

He was in love (and it was love, wasn’t it? _Fucking hell)_ with a barista. A posh barista with about twelve middle names and a mysterious past and a smile that could kill him. Penny was going to piss herself when she found out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Just one chapter left!! (I think) Hopefully you're enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it, and pleaaase leave comments (and kudos :p) on anything you like, anything you'd want to see, and any bits you don't understand. (I've kind of assumed some knowledge of the British education system)


	3. Better lat(t)e than never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon accepts his feelings for Baz, uni crises and shitty 80s music shenanigans ensue. Also angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Some mentions of parental abuse and homophobia in this chapter)
> 
> This is it! The final chapter! Apologies for the delay, but school has been kicking my arse, plus I have gifted you all with almost 5000 words of snowbaz for this chapter!!

**Simon**

Simon was right. Penny really did piss herself.

“This is _brilliant!_ This is actually brilliant.” She was literally cackling. Like a witch. From the loud noises in the background, it sounded like she was in the kitchen, possibly cooking dinner simultaneously.

“It’s not brilliant! He’s snarky and…and _evil_ and I think he hates my guts-“

“Oh he does _not_ hate your guts,” Penny interrupted.

“How would you know?”

Penny paused. “Well, I’ve talked to him and let’s just say you might have a chance.”

“But what do you say to a boy the day after you realise you were in love with him?”

“Love?” Penny sounded a little taken aback.

“Love, crush, want to snog his face off, whatever. Do you know on that first day we met him I honestly thought I was still dreaming? And then I freaked out and said my full name like a twat? How do you talk to a boy who thinks you’re a _twat?_ How do I even know he’s gay or ...whatever?” Realisation struck him. “Oh shit, _Agatha._ ”

Penny let out one very long sigh, “Yes, the fact that you remember Agatha _this late_ in the conversation is pretty indicative that you should dump her.” She had her Parent Voice on again. “Jesus Christ, you are a _horrendous_ boyfriend.”

“But…” Simon tailed off. He was going to take her to prom. They were going to fucking stay together forever and live in a cute flat with a dog and 2.5 children. “It’s _Agatha_. We’re … fucking soulmates…aren’t we? Wait, will Baz think I’m a really awful boyfriend too?”

“I’m done dealing with this tonight Simon, I’ve got work to do. All I’m saying is, Agatha deserves better than a boy who’s in love with their local barista.”

She hung up. Simon was fucked. Sitting on the bed at his (current and hopefully final) children’s home, springs digging into him, he decided there was only one solution: watch romcoms and ignore all his problems.

Sadly romcoms did nothing but exacerbate his problems. All the Hugh Grant/Ryan Gosling type people usually suddenly made out with the Julia Roberts/Emma Stone type people, then there’d be some drama and **then** they would say they loved each other. Simon had gotten it the wrong way around. He was pretty sure it wasn’t usual to fall in love with someone after about three weeks, and especially not when you already had a girlfriend.

Also, how had he _not_ noticed how hot Ryan Gosling was?

Did this mean he was gay?

After a warning that “you’ve been watching Netflix for seven hours, are you okay?” he decided to say “fuck it” and pull an all-nighter. It was five-thirty in the morning. Banking on the café being open for him to get some coffee, Simon grabbed his school bag and headed out of the home, eyes burning from too much screen time. He knew the route to the coffee shop blindfolded by now, his feet automatically taking him over railway bridges, out of the dodgier area of town, through a park and to the door. It then occurred to him he had no idea what he was meant to say to a boy who he’d just realised he was in love with.

The answer was: nothing at all as Simon became lost for words as he beheld the spectacle that was Baz Pitch _dancing_ through the glass door of the café. He alternated singing into a rolling pin like it was a microphone and using it to air drum, hitting the counter in the process. He then began pulling his hair up in a bun. Simon’s laughter dried up in his throat. Baz’s pale neck was now fully exposed, and his jawline became more defined, sharp and dangerous and incredibly hot.    

Simon was fucked. So incredibly fucked. He needed to run away as fast as he could or suck it up and see what Baz was so happy about. Deciding on the latter, he snuck in when Baz’s back was turned and was greeted with an earful of the Human League’s _Don’t You Want Me_ and a not too shabby view of Baz from behind as he shook his hips in time to the beat whilst dramatically singing along.

Simon let out a small chuckle, causing Baz to drop an entire bottle of milk onto the floor.

“Fuck!”

“Morning, Baz,” Simon said, trying not to snort, “You seem…happy.”

“I…uh…” Was Simon dreaming or was Baz… frazzled? Hair had come loose from his bun, he had milk all over his feet and his brows were scrunched up. It was unbelievably cute, and “cute” and “Baz Pitch” were not two words said together often.

Simon burst out laughing, clutching his sides and then a table next to him as he doubled over.

(The ten hours of Netflix may have got to him slightly.)

“ _Don’t You Want Me?_ Really?” He wheezed incredulously.

“It’s an eighties classic!” Baz replied.

“And you’re eigh **teen**!”

“My mum used to play it the whole time. She’d dance around the kitchen too.”

Simon noticed the subtle “used to,” having used it himself more times than he could count, but, in true Simon fashion, elected to ignore it and blundered further on.

“Yeah, nice moves.” (Was this flirting? If it was, Simon was abysmal at it.)

“Yeah they get all the boys,” Baz said, with a hint of a grin. He looked a bit like a shark, but a friendly shark. _God_ , Simon needed sleep.

Wait, had Baz said “boys”? Simon’s heart rate increased dramatically.

“So,” Baz said. Shit, had Simon been staring? He’d definitely been staring. “You’re here very early for your coffee.”

“I didn’t sleep.”

“Okay,” Baz said, drawing out the word as he began to tidy the milk explosion up, “Any reason?”

_Because I was coming to terms with the fact I’m awfully, hopelessly in love with you. And watching Love Actually._

“Ridiculously noisy arguments, uncomfortable bed, a classic night at a children’s home, really,” Simon replied, sitting down and attempting to act casual even though it felt like his stomach was doing acrobatics.

Baz’s eyes widened.

“I know, I act like a posh twat,” Simon replied.

“You don’t _act_ like a posh twat, you go to a school filled with posh twats,” Baz said, “Speaking as one myself.”

“Yeah, my dad pays for me to go. He’s very insistent about putting my education first. Just not, you know, my welfare. Or feeding me.”

“Fuck,” Baz said quietly, and then put the coffee machine on to drown out the silence.

Simon rubbed his face with his hands. He hated talking about the home, and Baz didn’t even know the half of it. Like how the posh twat act was very intentional after some serious bullying when he started Watford. Or how there’d be days when his “anger management issues” had been so bad he’d been locked in a room, cooped up and breaking walls. Or how Agatha had seen him “go off” one time, and she’d never looked or touched him in the same way again, like he was dangerous to her. Because he was.

“I guessed after last night you’d want a double-shot expresso,” Baz said, putting down his coffee and perching on the seat next to him. Simon took a sip and sighed.

“You were right.”

“When am I not?”

“Even,” Simon laughed, “Even after I catch you dancing along to _Don’t You Want Me_ , you’re still a cocky git.”

“It’s part of my charm, Snow,” Baz smiled. _God_ , he looked good with a bun, “And I’d like to see you dance half as well as me.”

“Oh yeah?” Simon asked, downing the rest of his coffee (and wincing, it was _way_ too hot), standing up, and turning the music back on.

“I’m surprised your barrel of a body can move at all,” Baz said, standing up.

“Fight me, stick insect,” Simon laughed.

“Stick insect,” Baz scoffed, pushing back the chair and then they were dancing.

Simon wasn’t sure whether it could be classified as dancing, not when it mostly consisted of jumping up and down, headbanging (that was Baz, with one glorious moment when he took his bun out and shook his head), attempted breakdancing (that was Simon) and a finale which culminated in the two of them standing on the benches, singing their hearts out.

The music stopped and they burst into laughter, attempting to catch their breaths. Baz’s hair fell over his eyes, and Simon leaned a little closer, in one impulsive movement, to push it away. The two froze, eyes locked.

“Baz?” Simon asked, “Do you still hate me?”

Baz’s face broke into a smile, not a mischievous or snarky or brief one like Simon had glimpsed before, but a full-faced, warm, heart-stopping toothy grin which made him look radiant.

“Not in the slightest,” he whispered.

Fuck. Simon jumped down from the chair, shaking his head a little. He had been on the cusp of kissing Baz- _fuck._ He said something he barely comprehended to Baz, paid for the coffee, and walked out the door. He _needed_ to talk to Agatha.

* * *

 

**Baz**

Baz sat down suddenly as the door shut, feeling weak at the knees. He could still feel Simon’s breath on his face, like an echo. It was bad enough crushing on Simon from afar but this? This was _torture._ And it was unfair; Simon didn’t even like him- at least not like that- but Baz did have the sneaking suspicion the two of them were becoming friends. It was weird.

He was mid-way through the morning rush when Fiona came in, practically shoving customers out of the way and vaulting over the counter.

“Morning boyo, I need coffee.” Her hair was even messier than normal and Baz was pretty sure the smudged eyeliner wasn’t intentional.

“Go ahead,” Baz said. It was her café, after all.

“Ian dumped me this morning.”

“Ian?”

“My boyfriend.”

“You had a boyfriend?”

“He just went and fucking dumped me over text. I mean, can you get anymore inconsiderate, Basil? I mean, I know he was common as muck but can you imagine? By _text?”_ Fiona was pacing up and down now, and Baz was just thankful that most of the customers had gone away so she could rant in peace.

“Err…sorry,” Baz replied, rubbing at a spot on the counter in order to avoid looking at her.

“Romance is overrated, Basil. Don’t let any arsehole steal your heart. And your Netflix password – fuck you Ian!”

“Yeah, about that…” Baz said, his concentration on the spot intensifying, “How do you tell if a boy likes you?”

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ. Who is it? Oh shit, it’s that Snow boy, isn’t it?”

“Err, yeah.”

“ _Basilton.”_ Bloody hell, all three syllables.

“What?”

“He goes to a _care home.”_

“I’m not going to fucking marry him! I just want to date him.”

“And fuck him.”

“Fiona!”

“Well there’s no need to look so glum about it. I’d say just grow some balls and fucking ask him, it’s not like you can piss off your father any _more.”_

“There’s no need to rub it in, I’m perfectly aware my father hates me,” Baz said, the sardonic tone failing slightly as his voice cracked.

“Baz,” Fiona said, her voice softening, “You just need to sort your life out a little; your father has only allowed one lazy drifter in the family and that spot’s been taken by me.”

“But what can I do? I’m not doing medicine, Fiona.”

“Just find a degree course you like, and you’re sorted.”

“That’s not how it works!” Baz exclaimed but was interrupted by Fiona’s phone ringing.

“Hello, Ian, you ineloqent fucker,” she spat, cheerily waving goodbye to Baz as she clomped out of the shop.

Baz released his grip on the sideboard, faced with the momentous task of sorting out his future.

* * *

By the end of the day the only thing he’d sorted out was arranging the mugs in colour order. (He’d made a rainbow, hoping Simon would take the hint.) By six there had been no sign of Simon, and Baz was nearly going insane from thinking about courses and university and applications. He wanted to cry.

Head in hands, Baz was about to say fuck it all, buy alcohol and pass out in a heap when the shop door opened. Simon was there, his cheeks red and wearing a mustard coloured beanie that let a few stray curls out the front.

“Hey Baz!” he said, “Rugby practice was a killer, can I get a tea?”

“Okay,” Baz replied, standing up straight, going to the kettle, filling it up and immediately dropping it on the floor.

He couldn’t even fill a fucking kettle. He couldn’t do the job that he’d literally been given without having to apply, he couldn’t pick a degree course, couldn’t think about his feelings and he couldn’t talk to his own fucking father.

“Baz?” Simon asked, sounding concerned. Baz’s hands were shaking.

“Sorry, I-“

“Forget the tea, come and sit.”

Baz complied, collapsing on the sofa and curling up in a ball.

“It’s okay,” Simon said, speaking in a soft tone Baz hadn’t heard since he was a child.

“I’m not crying.”

“I didn’t say you were crying,” Simon chuckled, “Now, what’s going on?”

“I haven’t sorted my uni course out,” _And I love you._ _But, you know, whatever._

“So you’re saying you don’t know what to pick?”

“Yeah.”

“Well it’s fine! The UCAS deadline isn’t for another couple of days.”

“Days, Simon. I’ve got a _couple of days_ to sort my life out.”

“We’ll sort it out tonight.”

“What?” Baz said, raising his head.

“Well, we’re in a coffee shop. I say we pull an all nighter and get you that university application.”

Simon was smiling, and Baz felt his heart warm up a little. “You’re a nutter.”

“A nutter who’s going to get you into uni.”

Baz laughed a little, and then tried not to jump as he felt the press of the boy’s hand against his own. He looked up at Simon, who looked a little like a deer in the headlights, and closed his hand around his.

“Let’s do this.”

* * *

It quickly transpired the team needed some more brain cells, so Penny was drafted over. She came with a whiteboard.

“Alright, let’s get this shit done.”

Baz and Simon were still on the sofa, and Baz grasped Simon’s hand again to deal with the pressure. He didn’t seem to mind.

“What A levels did you do?”

“Biology, Chemistry and Maths. Music for AS.”

“Fucking hell, that’s disgusting,” Penny said, writing them up on the board.

“Don’t listen to Penny, she’s a humanities student,” Simon said, dropping Baz a smile.

“Linguistics is not a humanity subject!” Penny snapped. “Anyway, let’s get your opinion for each of your subjects. Music?”

“Alright, more of a hobby really. I could never be arsed with the theory.”

“And I’m guessing _theory_ is a large part of a degree course, so that’s out,” Penny replied, crossing off the word.

“Biology?” Simon asked.

“Shite. I only did it to do medicine.”

“What? It’s the best science!” Penny exclaimed.

“See? Humanities student.”

“Fuck off, Snow. So what do we have left?”

“Chemistry and Maths,” Simon replied, sticking out his tongue.

“Don’t do a Chemistry degree Baz, for the love of God.”

“He won’t, he says he’s a maths whizz, that’s the obvious choice.”

They looked at each other and smiled. Jesus, the two were like a more foul-mouthed Ant and Dec.

“Well, _he_ is sitting right here,” Baz interrupted, “And surely if I’m doing Maths it would make more sense to do something like Economics, since that’s actually useful for getting jobs and shit.”

“Fuck getting jobs!” Penny exclaimed, almost dropping the whiteboard pen in the process, “You’re going to do this degree for three years, please just pick something you’re actually going to enjoy.”

“I might enjoy Economics,” Baz protested.

“Okay, do some research,” Penny declared. Jesus, the girl was bossy.

After a brief bit of research it became clear that Baz did _not_ want to do Economics.

“Oh my God, I never want to read the word ‘market’ again,” Baz groaned. Simon was eating a cherry scone and nearly choked laughing.

“So Maths?” He asked.

“Fuck it – Maths it is,” Baz said, letting out a sigh.

“Thank God,” Penny said, packing up her bags and grabbing a cherry scone (Baz probably shouldn’t have been giving them away for free, but oh well,) “I’m heading home, but text me if you have any troubles drafting your personal statement.”

Personal statement? Oh, shit.

* * *

It was eleven at night. Empty coffee cups lay strewn along the table along with piles of notes. Baz’s leg hadn’t stopped jiggling since the third cup but the good thing was it was very unlikely he was going to go to sleep. Maybe ever. The two had struggled for hours over takeaway pizza trying to piece together a valid argument demonstrating Baz’s love for Maths. It hadn’t actually been too hard, as once Baz began professing his love for graphs, Simon rolled his eyes, said “nerd” in an endearing tone and told him he was good to go. The issue now was writing the thing. Across the table from him, Simon lay with his head on a pile of notes, snoring slightly. His hair was a crush of curls against the wood, and his lips were parted slightly. Baz was struggling to concentrate on his writing, and he felt quite bad for creeping on Simon as he slept, but could it be bad when he was just _that_ attractive?

Simon made a light snuffling noise that set Baz’s heart beating far too fast and opened his eyes blearily.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Baz said with a smile.

“Argh, fuck, sorry I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine, you sleep.”

“No!” Simon said, pouting a little, “I want to stay up and help you. Gimme coffee.”

“Alright, but only if it’s this one specific coffee,” Baz replied, formulating a recipe in his head.

He stood up, stretched and made his way over to the counter, and tried to replicate the recipe he made for Penny a few days earlier. He gave it to Simon, who took a grateful sip before opening his mouth in shock.

“It’s amazing! It tastes like winter and baking and…it’s so good!”

“Thanks, I made it myself,” Baz said, holding back a huge grin, “It reminds me of my mother.”

“Oh,” Simon said, but not in the sort of way most people did when he talked about her, which made clear that they wanted him to shut up, but an “oh” which encouraged him to continue.

“She died when I was five, stabbed actually. I mean, I don’t remember much of it, but I…I was there.”

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Simon’s eyes were wide, and Baz’s heart was beating out of his chest. Simon rubbed the back of his neck, “I never knew my mum, actually. She disappeared after I was born, she needed to escape my dad, I think. So I lived with just my dad for a bit until social services got involved and I was put into care.”

“How old were you then?”

“Seven.”

“Shit. What was that even like?”

Simon sighed “Well…”

* * *

Once that can of worms had been opened, the awkwardness in the room dissipated. The two talked for hours, Simon gesticulating so hard he knocked a coffee cup over. Baz had never felt so relaxed talking about his mum to anyone, because Simon _got it._ He didn’t ask stupid questions, and he knew how horrible it was to deal with some of the no-mum stuff. He also made Baz thankful that though he had a shitty dad, he was still a _dad_ , who did genuinely care for him. (Somewhere. Quite deep down.)

Midnight came and went, and Baz picked up again on his personal statement, reading out sections to Simon, who responded with facial expressions of varying enthusiasm. It was far from perfect, but good enough to email into school and to his father, with the subject line “Actual Proof Baz is Getting His Life Together.” (That was Simon’s idea.)

It was somewhere in the early hours of the morning, the time when everything seems to fall deadly silent, when Baz finally sent the email from the comfort of the café sofa, shook out his shoulders, and noticed Simon had fallen asleep next to him. He was curled up into a little ball, brows furrowed, and before Baz could even think he was wrapping his arms around him and resting his head against Simon’s back. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but he could feel the other boy’s steady breathing and even smell him (coffee and sweat and baking), meaning Baz fell into the most calming sleep he could remember.

Baz woke up to the ping of his phone, feeling very disorientated. He had a vague memory of a warm chest under his head, and a hand smoothing his hair. He opened his eyes blearily, reaching out for Simon, to find nothing. He was gone.   

* * *

If Baz had thought he was bad with dealing with his feelings before, then this was a whole new level of awful. Simon hadn’t shown up for days since the all-nighter/personal statement extravaganza, and if it hadn’t been for Penny assuring him the boy was fine, but busy then he would have shown up to Watford in a state of panic looking for him. He spent his days looking through Simon’s pictures on Facebook and Instagram, and when Penny took his phone off him he went in a bit of a huff and only played angsty music in the café. He knew he was pathetic, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Despite the school accepting his application and sending it off, his dad was still angry at him. If this had been a few days earlier, he would be able to complain to Simon, but Simon was ignoring him. Angsty music and Facebook stalking couldn’t fix that.  

It had been almost a week (the longest week of Baz’s life) since he had last seen Simon, and Baz was minding the shop alone when the entire school football team barged in through the door. Jesus Christ, Baz did _not_ need this.

“Oi, Basil, hey!” Toby, the loudest and tallest, shouted out.

“Hi,” Baz replied. _Basil_ , wow, how fucking inventive. “What can I get for you?”

“A latte each, except for Ben who’ll probably want a soy mocha or something, the gay shit.”

The boys behind him burst into floods of laughter.

“If you could explain to me what exactly is so ‘gay’ about a soy mocha, then I’ll be happy to make your drinks,” Baz said, his chest tight, knuckles white as he clung onto the shop counter.

“Hey, mate, you’re here to make drinks, not talk shit.”

“Don’t worry Toby,” another boy behind him piped up, “He’s not used to actually _working_ for a job, he usually just has to suck a few cocks and then he can do whatever the fuck he wants.”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Heads turned around in shock to see the figure standing at the door.

Simon stepped towards them.

_Simon._

* * *

 

**Simon**

He hadn’t really intended on making such a grandiose entrance, but the edges of his vision were now tinged with red and it was using up all his energy not to punch someone in the face.

“What the _fuck_ did you just say?” He repeated, marching towards one of the football players, who really looked like he was regretting his life choices.

“Err, nothing I just…”

Simon picked him up by his shirt collar and slammed him against the nearest wall.

“Get. Out.” Simon was surprised he could speak at all. He dropped the boy unceremoniously and turned to the rest of the team.

“Alright, alright,” Toby said, smirking, “Let’s leave Basil’s boyfriend alo-“

Simon punched him straight in the jaw. It was a little unnecessary, sure, but it felt fucking _amazing._

“Find another place to get coffee,” he grunted, and the team shuffled out of the door, muttering a little.

Simon turned back to Baz, panting, still seeing red.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Baz said, walking out from behind the counter to sweep up a broken mug. (Had Simon done that? Apparently.)

“I wasn’t going to sit there and let them … shit on you like that.”

“I was _dealing with it,_ ” Baz spat.

“You were just standing there and-“

“Shut up, Snow.”

“But-“

**“Shut up.”**

“You don’t have to let them get away with that!”

“Yes I do!” Baz stood stock still, but every fibre of him seemed to be shaking. “You haven’t a fucking clue, Snow! Who am I going to tell - my father? Who refuses to even acknowledge I’m gay? And I can’t leave the shop, cause then I would have to spend every hour of every day, sitting at home, reminding myself of how great a failure I am. Or worse, going to family dinners, being set up with nice girls, everyone assuming I’m something that I’m not, putting up this façade because that’s the only way I’m able to survive. And you? You don’t have a _fucking clue!”_

“Actually, I do.” There was a pause. Simon could hear his heart in his ears. He’d just wanted to shut Baz up, and he’d stepped in it, big time. Well, it was all or nothing now.

“I broke up with Agatha,” he said, rather quickly.  

Baz just stood there, his eyes darting around the room as though it would give him an explanation. Simon could see his hands shaking, his lips pressed together, and he wanted to kiss them, but it was like there was some force that was tying him to the ground, and he was so nervous he could hardly breathe.

* * *

 

**Baz**

Simon lips were parted, shaking slightly, and were the most beautiful things Baz had ever seen. As if pulled by a magnet, he stepped closer, barely thinking, grabbing Simon’s face between his hands. Each tiny point of contact sent fireworks to his brain and he froze, overloaded with feeling. Simon’s eyes kept flicking to Baz’s lips, and slowly, torturously and probably unconsciously, he drew his lower lip through his teeth.

* * *

 

**Simon**

Baz’s pupils were dark, and his lips dangerously close to Simon’s. He knew, just one tiny lift of the head, just a slight lean forward would be all he needed, but Baz seemed frozen, looking overawed. Simon took another fraction of a step forward. His lips were still quivering.

“Please,” he breathed, and that was all it took.

* * *

 

**Baz**

It felt like an explosion. Baz was grasping the back of Simon’s head, lips colliding, teeth bashing a little in over excitement. Simon grasped Baz’s back and pulled him in closer, causing Baz to let out a sigh. Simon took this as his cue to slip his tongue into Baz’s mouth, licking at him and Baz could only groan and return the attack. This was _much_ better than fighting. Baz’s hands roamed down Simon’s back, slipping down the back pockets of his jeans and pulling him forward, seeking more contact until Baz’s back hit the counter.

Baz melted into the kiss, tasting only ginger and warmth and something unmistakably Simon (sour cherry scones? Probably.) Simon pulled apart, lips red and swollen, looking down on him with such unreserved awe that Baz couldn’t help but give in to the lump that had been stuck in his throat for the past few hours and sob.

* * *

 

**Simon**

He really hadn’t meant for his first kiss with Baz to result in _crying._ Was he really that bad?

As if reading his thoughts, Baz gave a dopey smile and ran his fingers through Simon’s curls.

“Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse.

“It’s fine, are you sure you-“

Baz pulled him back into the kiss before he could finish with such intensity Simon let out a gasp. It was shorter this time, and Baz released him, leaving their foreheads pressed together. Simon couldn’t even open his eyes for a few moments.

* * *

 

**Baz**

Baz was staring, but then again so was Simon, like he was looking at something beautiful and rare and wonderful that couldn’t possibly be Baz – could it? Strong fingers ran through his hair and Baz shivered.

“Are you blushing?” Simon chuckled.

“Nonsense, Pitches don’t _blush_.”

“Pitches _do_ blush when confronted with very attractive rugby playing boys called Simon.”

Baz laughed at that, but Simon was staring at his feet like he wanted to escape.

“What?”  

“It’s just … aarg!” Jesus, extracting words from him was like getting blood from a stone, “My life is a fucking tragedy, and I don’t know what I’m doing, I literally couldn’t _be_ a bigger mess-“

“Good,” Baz said, lifting Simon’s chin up, “Because we match.”

* * *

 

In the weeks that followed, Penny’s handbook had to include a number of new rules:

  1. _Do not let me catch you and Simon fucking in the store cupboard again, unless you wish to further scar Penny for life and risk her hitting you over the head with a rolling pin._
  2. _The cap on sour cherry scones you can give to Simon is three, and only three._
  3. _If you find any more boys passed out under the tables, for the love of God chuck them out._
  4. _THE WHIPPED CREAM IS FOR CUSTOMERS ONLY OH MY LORD DO NOT TOUCH IT EVER AGAIN_
  5. _If that arsehole Toby shows up again, give me a call. I’ll show him he doesn’t mess with my nephew – F_
  6. _Make sure you tell your (amazing) boyfriend you love him every day (Also three scones only, Penny – seriously?) – Simon xxx :)_



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, and especially thanks to peanuts-incorporated (over on tumblr), without whom I never would have had the idea. I love my little coffee shop dorks, and hope you do too :)  
> Kudos and comments are my cherry scones <3

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are my sour cherry scones :)


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